


Never a Borrower

by atrata



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, wallsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-08
Updated: 2005-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:52:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrata/pseuds/atrata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley needs a favor. Post BtVS S6/AtS S3. Angel's under water, Giles is in England, and Wesley is angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never a Borrower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bethynyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/gifts).



> Written for the [2005 Giles Ficathon](http://www.livejournal.com/community/giles_ficathon/393.html) for [](http://bethynyc.livejournal.com/profile)[**bethynyc**](http://bethynyc.livejournal.com/), who requested Giles/Wes, high tea, and remembering Ripper. I hope this suits. Heaps of thanks to [](http://minervacat.livejournal.com/profile)[**minervacat**](http://minervacat.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

"Good lord. Wesley? I--please, do come in." Giles, quite surprised, stepped back and opened the door. "I was just about to have a cup of tea. Shall I pour another?"

Wesley stepped into Giles' flat and closed the door behind him. He shook his head once and said, "I need a favor," and Giles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn't recognize the voice coming from Wesley's mouth, nor was he quite sure he recognized Wesley.

"I see," Giles said. "Just, ah, just give me a moment to get--"

"That won't be necessary," Wesley said, brushing past Giles and heading down the long hallway toward the study. "This won't take but a moment," he called. Giles watched him for a moment, took in the wary, confident way Wesley moved, somehow walking away without quite turning his back.

Giles sighed and followed him down the hallway, stepping into the doorway of the study and leaning against the doorjamb. Wesley was in front of one of the bookshelves, trailing his fingers lightly over the rows of books. "I just need… ah, yes. Here it is." He pulled a book down and turned to leave. "Thank you."

Giles pushed off the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, blocking the doorway. "Now, look here. You can't just walk in here and--" Wesley took another step forward and moved his head slightly, tilted it a bit to the side, and Giles saw the line of angry red scar tissue across his throat. He bit off the rest of the sentence and nodded at the book. "What do you intend to do with that?"

"That's none of your concern," Wesley said, his voice hard and increasingly unfamiliar. "But there's no need to worry. I assure you, I'll return your book in pristine condition." He slid the book into his bag, and Giles finally got a look at the title.

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," he said. "I'm more concerned about your condition. The Ogdoad should not be taken lightly. And you don't look well." It was true: This new Wesley was all sharp angles and ragged edges, thin and burning and hungry. He reminded Giles of himself, after he and Ethan had killed Randall.

Giles stared at Wesley and tried to remember what he'd needed afterwards, what might have kept him from drowning himself in enough alcohol to obliterate months of his life, but he couldn't.

"It's a bit late for your concern," Wesley said with a tight, unpleasant smile. He glanced around the room, and Giles could imagine what he saw: everything neat and orderly, every book and trinket and piece of paper in its proper place. "And forgive me if you hardly seem qualified to lecture me on dealing with Chaos."

It was Giles' turn to smile unpleasantly. "Oh, you're quite right about that," he said. He knew an edge had crept into his voice, knew his accent had slipped just a fraction, and knew both were probably imperceptible unless one knew him. Wesley, it was clear, did not, but at least something in what he'd said gave the other man pause; he looked a little less sure of himself.

"I-- I just want to talk."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Then talk."

"I didn't mean with you." Wesley's face hardened back into the unfamiliar mask it had been when he arrived.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have come here."

"Then allow me to rectify the situation by leaving." Wesley pressed himself against the doorway, sliding against the wall in an effort to get through the door while staying as far away from Giles as possible. Giles reached out to put a hand on Wesley's shoulder, and then there was a flash of movement, and Giles was up against the wall, Wesley's forearm pressing hard into his throat.

"Don't," was all Wesley said.

Giles was perfectly positioned to knee Wesley in the groin, and he did consider it, but he dismissed the idea almost instantly. Instead he opened his mouth to make some sort of comment, perhaps a dry observation on the deterioration of Wesley's manners since moving to Los Angeles. But the words caught in his throat at the look in Wesley's eyes, all dead and desperate, and then Wesley's tongue was in his mouth and Giles forgot all about being snide.

It wasn't pretty. It was stumbling and awkward, all fumbling hands and sweaty skin and more teeth and elbows than two people of the non-demon persuasion could possibly possess. Giles felt Wesley's stubble rub against his jawline, heard his glasses clatter to the floor, dug his fingertips into the wall behind him as one of Wesley's jeans-clad thighs slid between his own. They thrust against each other, mindless and frantic, and then Giles came with a low groan, his head thrown back against the wall, Wesley's teeth deep in the muscle of his shoulder. It was over as suddenly as it had started.

Wesley dropped his forehead against Giles' shoulder, and the only sound between them was the harsh panting of their breath as they got themselves under control. Wesley pulled away first, adjusted himself and straightened his shirt, picked up Giles' glasses off the floor and handed them over.

Giles put them back on in time to see Wesley walking down the hall toward the door. He pushed himself off the wall and gave into a hunch.

"How's Angel?" he called, and was not surprised when Wesley froze, tension evident in every line of his body. He stood silent for a long time.

"I killed him," he said, and the door slammed shut before Giles even had a chance to digest the words.

**-FIN-**


End file.
